Meandering anecdotes and an occasional incisive comment, courtesy of an overeducated, feminist former-professional, who is continually outsmarted by her overly-gifted children and genius spouse and who seeks refuge in books, cocktails, and the occasional Xanax.

Monday, April 23, 2007

scarily adult

Seven year old Iris Uber Alles has outgrown her traditional bedtime ritual (a story read in bed, and then a backscratch). She breezily announces, "I'm going to bed" and goes off, firmly shutting the door after her. Iris Uber Alles has also outgrown her epic battles to stay up late (I'll never forget those times when exhausted Anton fell asleep putting her to bed and Iris staged an Escape From Bed Island, running out to rejoin me. In a display of crappy parenting, I always rewarded her for outlasting her father by putting on some cartoons and snuggling and giggling with her).

The Sober Husband is less ready for this maturity. "I'm not ready to give up our bedtime," he told me. "I'm horning in on it." He insinuates himself and asks to be allowed to read to Iris, which her majesty sometimes allows and sometimes does not.

I was okay with this evening maturity (I already had my bittersweet moment of mourning Iris's loss of childlike nature in the supermarket. Iris Uber Alles used to argue viciously with me over which supermarkets we visited, insisting we patronize either Albertson's, where there are hybrid shopping cart/plastic trucks a child may drive, or Calmart, where there are child-sized shopping carts with little warning flags, as well as a train which runs around the walls on a mounted track. I, however, want to shop at my beloved Andronico's, land of the amazing yuppie ingredients and fabulous produce. Then the day came when we did stop at Alberston's and Iris had no interest in driving one of the truck carts. I felt teary and sentimental, and Iris was nonplussed. "Should I want to drive one of them?" She gamely offered to get in one to please me, but I wasn't pathetic enough to accept). But now she's pushing my limits: Iris asked that we set our alarm clocks for 6:00 this morning, rather than our usual 7:00. She was tired of rushing out of the house to go to school and instead wanted to "have a balanced breakfast" (she has taken to demanding that her breakfasts be "balanced") and "have time to rest"

Iris was excited about this experiment in early rising. "I'll have a whole hour to rest!" I suggested that sleeping is the very best form of rest, but she riposted, "I'll be able to really rest when you REST IN PEACE!"

Going to bed without a story or backscratch. Passing by the plastic truck. And now, looking forward to her mother's demise. She definitely skipped the regular childhood years and advanced straight to teenager.